Consummation
by cakefaced
Summary: Matchmaker Dumbledore, secret missions, and dragonhide boots, oh my! First two chapters will be lemonade, nine chapters of story  & smut  to follow. Pure lemony romance, plenty of fluff, and eventual HEA. Plus, lots of Snape's talented hands!
1. Prologue Part I

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter franchise. This is just for fun, not profit!

A/N: I was on years and years ago before taking a break from fanfiction for awhile. My old profile got deleted somewhere along the way, so I'll be reposting my old fics. I can't even remember if this one ever wrapped up satisfactorily, but I don't plan to revisit it and write anymore. There are 11 chapters all in all, and when I get to cleaning up and reposting the 11th chapter, I'll try to make sure it gets sewn up somehow if it seems like there are tons of loose ends (I haven't read this story since I wrote it, and will be revisiting it chapter by chapter as I clean them up one at a time to repost).

If, at the end of the story, you think there should be more, I encourage you to contact me about writing a sequel or followup. I don't plan to do more than basic tidying up of these chapters for repost, so there won't be any big additions from me.

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. . . Severus lay her, now clad only in her underwear, stomach down on the bed, positioning her limbs with tenderness Hermione had never thought he could posses.

She closed her eyes and savored the feel of his callused hands expertly sliding beneath her, lifting her entire body with ease.

He allowed the very tips of her fingers to graze her hipbones briefly before removing his hands entirely and positioning himself comfortably on his knees between Hermione's thighs; a safe enough distance between his legs and her pussy to avoid premature stimulation. Severus planned to savor every moment, draw it out as long as he could. Hermione experimentally wriggled downward, and she felt a sudden thrill when he held her fast, returning his hands to her hips and pinning her firmly. She found herself (surprisingly) completely content to submit to his ministrations. This was new, but somehow delicious.

Once confident that Hermione understood the unspoken rules, and would not move, lest the contact be removed entirely, Severus grazed the nape of her neck with the pads of his fingertips. He deftly pushed his slim fingers up through her now tangled mass of hair to the very crown of her head and splayed his palms across her hair. Each fingertip expertly located a pressure point on her skull and kneaded her scalp gently, his ring fingers pressed into her temples while his index fingers glided across her smooth forehead, wiping away tension she hadn't even realized she possessed.

Hermione's eyelids flickered closed and she allowed herself to be buried in the sensations; the even heat of his hands working methodically, building a steady rhythm for her thoughts to sink into; the faint scent of herbs and woods, combined with the subtle, heady smell of Severus' skin.

_Severus_, she thought, turning the word over in her mind as she allowed her thoughts to drift together. Hermione was vaguely aware that the entire scenario was completely out of character for both of them. At this nagging suspicion, her thoughts snapped back to reason; _it's only out of character because I've never even considered the possibilities before. . . _and it was true. Hermione had never paid much attention to sensual longing, because there had never been a pressing desire to do so.

Her previous lovers had been only that; Ron and Viktor had, of course, cared for her deeply, but had never given thought to exploring her body further than what fell within common sexual gratification. The closest thing she had ever received to a romantic massage was a feeble attempt on Ron's part to rid her of a headache (her equally feeble excuse for not feeling amorous that particular evening).

She had never given it much thought before, but now, lying beneath Snape, no,_ Severus_, she felt a keen loss at the thought of never before having had this sort of touch- genuine and pure, but also sensual and filled with desire.

Lazily concluding that all the details could be analyzed and discussed at a later date, she applied herself once again to savoring the feel of his caress, and marveling at the gentleness that was so unexpected, and yet so fitting, of her former professor, the snarky git himself.

Drawing herself back into the moment, she found, with some surprise, that his hands had not yet left her scalp. His palms were now cradling the base of her skull, the heels of his hands firmly rocking into her neck, applying small waves of pressure that Hermione found to be absolutely hypnotic.

As her muscles unwound themselves beneath his hands, Hermione found herself in a state of physical relaxation she had never imagined possible. In fact, she rather felt that her muscles had turned to jelly under his attentions. She found herself growing more aware of the actual feel of his hands, and the arousal of earlier was returning to her, although this time the lust was considerably less tainted with nervousness.

As though sensing her mounting desire, Severus shifted gears slightly. He began kneading more deeply and allowing his hands to roam across her shoulder and arms, fingers curling around her lean biceps and kneading the joints at her elbows; which Hermione found to be curiously erotic.

At this new change of direction, Hermione's body began to respond, with little conscious effort, and Severus once again slid his hands to her hips to still her, silently insisting that she allow him to continue his study of her body at his own pace. Severus Snape was nothing if not a scholar, after all.

To her great pleasure, however, his hands did not return to her arms and shoulders, but instead began working small circles across her back, evolving into smooth, full strokes of his hands along her sides, just barely grazing the sides of her breasts. Gooseflesh erupted in the wake of his trailing fingers, and Hermione was sure it had not gone unnoticed, but his ministrations never ceased, to her great relief.

On the third repetition of these strokes, he allowed two fingertips to mould gently into the curve of her breast, eliciting a soft moan from Hermione, which he ignored, deliberately maintaining what was quickly becoming an agonizingly slow pace. Clearly, the git was on duty.

The second time he repeated this stroke, however, he allowed the two fingers that were cradling her breasts to slide a bit further, catching her now fully erect nipples between his fingers and sliding his hands nonchalantly back down her sides, leaving Hermione caught in a silent gasp, afraid to utter a sound, and provoke his to break the contact.

Clearly, Severus was having similar reaction, and his hands continued down her back, instead of repeating their venture along Hermione's breasts, to her thorough disappointment.

As Severus slid his fingertips along the elastic band of her knickers, Hermione held herself utterly, almost painfully still, now throbbing with anticipation and frustration. Hooking his index fingers beneath the waistband, he smoothly slid the garment down her hips, curling his palms around her hips to lift her off the bed just enough to allow the movement. Severus silently made it clear to Hermione that she need do nothing but relax under his touch, although by now this was nearly impossible, as her pulse was racing, all tension returning to her body as she anticipated his touch with a keen sense of desperation that would have embarrassed, no, _angered_ her, had it been any other man, any other situation.

Hermione understood that she was no damsel in distress nor conquered maiden here, but a true equal, basking in admiration of a remarkable other. Returning to the situation at hand, she found that Severus had threaded an arm beneath her abdomen, cradling her pelvis, his remaining arm firmly stretched along her back, grasping her shoulder. She felt herself being gently lifted and placed on her back, without her needing to move a single muscle.

It was strangely satisfying to be held and moved in such a way; she felt perfectly cared for, completely safe, and above all, utterly comfortable, as she had never felt with another person. Suddenly, facing each other, her eyes now wide open, if slightly glazed, they were confronted with the absolute truth of each other; the risk of overexposure; that the other might not share whatever it was that they were feeling.

Severus held her perfectly still for a single beat, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt, or discomfort, and finally relented when Hermione lifted her head just slightly, to bring her mouth up to his to kiss. Gently at first, then, as she lay her head back on the pillow, satisfied that she had supplied enough encouragement, he followed hungrily, moaning softly into her mouth as her lips parted for him, pulling him into a deep, searching kiss.

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Thanks for reading! Ten more chapters to come! Please review (gently)! No constructive (or otherwise) criticism, please, I'm just reposting my old story and won't be making any major changes. Also, I'm a tender cupcake and hate getting criticized for hobby writing!


	2. Prologue Part II

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter franchise. This is just for fun, not profit!

A/N: Here's part II of the prologue! Nine chapters of story to come. It's all written (this is a repost of an old fic), so I'll just clean up chapters as I go and put them up one at a time. How quickly that happens depends on (1) my time and (2) your reviews. If folks are excited about the story, it will motivate me to get these up quickly. Otherwise, it might take awhile.

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Severus kissed gently down Hermione's shoulder, then nuzzled against the warm skin for a moment, luxuriating in the heady scent, then bit softly into the soft flesh of the relaxed bicep, pulling lightly between his teeth, and pressing a firm kiss into the skin before releasing the bite. Instead of removing his mouth, however, he kept his lower lip into contact with her skin, dragging it down the underside of Hermione's arm slowly, the wet heat of the inside of his mouth in maddening contrast to the brushed silk of her lower lip.

Reaching the crook of her arm, Severus paused, and blew lightly against the sensitive skin of the inner elbow, causing her to gasp softly. Encouraged, he quickly darted his tongue out and blew again, more slowly this time, creating a cold sensation that was surprising at first, but intensely arousing once the shock of the chill wore off.

Moving on, Severus slid both lips quite chastely along the inside of her arm until reaching the pulse point, where he slid his lips around the slender wrist and licked one, smooth stroke over the most sensitive area before settling in to suck gently at first, then progressively harder until she inhaled sharply.

He relented, and the bite relaxed into a kiss, then he released his lips from her wrist entirely, leaving only the tip of his tongue to drag across her palm and up her middle finger, where, reaching the tip, his mouth engulfed the finger, sliding his lower lip to the where it met palm before closing his mouth around it, drawing upwards and allowing his tongue to swirl around the cuticle for a moment before taking the entire finger into his mouth again and suckling gently. Softly, he pulled his mouth away and again slid the tip of his tongue down her palm, placing a warm, chaste kiss in the center before curling his hand around hers.

Lightly gripping Hermione's wrist, Severus carefully lifted her arm above her head, retrieving something from the bed stand with his free hand.

Her eyes fluttered open with some surprise as her wrist was expertly tied to a center bar in the headboard, but it was surprising comfortable; not painfully constricting, but secure, and oddly, the thick cotton felt reassuring and pleasant bound so tightly against her wrist.

Hermione shot a quick, nervous look at Severus for reassurance and he nodded slightly, affirming that he would not betray this tangible trust.

Leaving her remaining arm free, Severus ran his fingers over her shoulder blade before cradling her neck and bringing himself down for a deep, soothing kiss.

The kiss become more passionate as Hermione relaxed into the idea and sensation of limited physical freedom, and experimentally raised her free hand to his neck, twining her fingers into the hair at the base of his hairline, testing to see how much movement she was to be allowed. Clearly this was Severus' game, and surprising to both of them, she didn't mind playing along.

As he pulled himself from the kiss, he tenderly disentangled her fingers from his hair and held her hand to his cheek briefly before returning her arm to her side, indicating that he would communicate when, and where her hand could move, or it would join it's sister: bound to the headboard.

Finally, he was growing impatient, and began running his hands eagerly over her body, all but abandoning the measured restraint that had presided over his touches all evening.

He knelt between her legs and lowered his mouth to her abdomen, trailing kisses over her womb, and rubbing his cheek against her ribcage, tenderly sliding the side of his palm along the side of her breast before cupping it fully and gently kneading the surrounding tissue with his fingertips.

He leaned in for one last, confirming kiss before lifting himself up and moving his hands over her body in long, deliberate strokes, his hands coming to rest at her bare hips, the pads of his thumbs massaging the edges of her pelvis.

His desire was growing apparent, and Severus tentatively allowed himself to brush against her thigh; a question, rather than a demand.

Hermione responded by lifting her thigh to meet him and inhaling eagerly. He smiled when he saw that her eyes were closed again, giving herself completely to the moment, to the union.

Briefly, he considered using a blindfold to heighten her senses further, but her initial surprise at the wrist restraint clearly communicated that she was new to the concept of bondage and sensory deprivation, and, despite her quick adjustment and apparent pleasure at the new experience, he wanted to ease her into it, trust given too quickly can be broken as easily.

Besides, he wanted to share this first time with her as completely as possible, allow her to see his utter adoration and pleasure.

Having seized the opportunity for free movement, Hermione had begun writhing against him, though he was still far enough to prevent her from sheathing him, she had successfully made his body entirely aware of the inevitable, and he was now aching to join her.

He had intended to draw the actual coupling as long as possible, but his body, and seemed far less patient. Stroking up her body with both hands, Severus grazed his thumbs gently against her lower temples, coaxing her to open her eyes. Understanding that speaking was out of bounds, she opened her eyes wide and plead with him, silently, her tongue darting out to lick her now dry lips and her hips rising subtly as though to coax him in.

He slid forward and lowered himself to her body, supporting himself with one arm while using the other to guide Hermione's hand to the small of his back.

She would have as much control as she needed to feel secure, and in this purest act of trust, he would not have her prone and without the freedom to instruct him in her needs.

It was this silent communication that struck her most, and filled with far more than lust for this man, and she stroked up his back and grasped his neck, pulling him into a bruising kiss as they joined.

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Thanks for reading! Nine more chapters to come! Please review (gently)! No constructive (or otherwise) criticism, please, I'm just reposting my old story and won't be making any major changes. Also, I'm a tender cupcake and hate getting criticized for hobby writing!


	3. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter franchise. This is just for fun, not profit!

A/N: We've made it through the prologue, now on to the story! Eight more chapters to come. It's all written (this is a repost of an old fic), so I'll just clean up chapters as I go and put them up one at a time.

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At Twenty, Hermione Granger felt completely alone. The strange bit was, she thoroughly adored it, for the most part.

For the first time in her life, she lived alone. Free of Hogwarts, of her family home, and of live-in romance. To be honest, free of romance entirely.

It was an adjustment, to be sure, but she had gone in with practical optimism, which had quickly became sheer elation when she discovered the tiny joys of cooking for one, evenings in, and having everything arranged exactly as she liked.

The first two weeks of being a single woman had been rather awkward. Still treading lightly where Ron was concerned, Hermione was determined to reinvent herself, and find out exactly what she had missed out on in her days as the monogamous bookworm.

She had bought a new wardrobe, entirely based on one kind, if not tragically misguided sales witch's opinion, which turned out to be a wee bit more daring than her delicate self-image could handle. Armed with thigh high dragon hide boots and more chain mail brassieres than one could reasonably put to use in three lifetimes as a dominatrix, she had hit the London night scene, both muggle and wizard, and was vastly disappointed with both, each for distinctive reasons, save for one common, major flaw. Men. Apparently, her father was right; they really were all the same.

After several failed attempts at an enjoyable evening out, due primarily to a distaste for both alcohol and over-zealous men (though the unfortunate evening wear may have been partly responsible), Hermione wisely chucked the new clothes (saving only the boots, which she had become rather fond of) and resolved to enjoy being a single woman by strengthening her own person, rather than becoming a new one entirely.

She found a cozy flat in a wizarding neighborhood near her parent's home outside of London, indulged in a book-buying binge in flourish and blots to battle late night loneliness, and threw herself into her work, taking on additional side projects helping with research for the Aurors to distract her from her regular assignments, and more importantly, from her partner, Ron.

Hermione and Ron had been a couple for a year and a half, having entered unspeakable training together. After their first mission, Ron had broken down, and Hermione had pulled him back and taken care of him. For the first time, Hermione saw Ron as fallible, someone far more delicate than she had ever considered, and he, in turn, saw Hermione's strength, as well as her ability to emotionally detach herself from a crisis.

They grew closer than ever before during the week of recuperation, but afterward, having immediately been sent on separate missions, they felt a rift growing between them; Hermione was frightened by Ron's intense emotional reactions, and Ron was worried about Hermione's lack of them.

Upon returning home, they had awkwardly tried to return to normal, but had finally realized that neither could emotionally provide for each other as a romantic partner, but likewise, could not live without each other as friends.

After a few months of adjusting to the absence of romance between them, they once again discovered the easy companionship they had honed for six years before becoming a couple, and each felt even more love for the other than during their entire romantic relationship.

Ron had moved on quite comfortably, engaging in short trysts every few weeks with different women, from whom he rarely had contact with afterward, which suited both his work and his romantic capacity.

Hermione was indeed finding tremendous freedom in being single, for she had not been on her own since graduation, and she rather liked being an "independent woman", throwing herself completely and utterly into her work. She considered her life, while a bit lonely, perhaps, to be very satisfying on the whole, and found companionship in the people whom she had come to love as family; Harry, the entire Weasley family, and Dumbledore, who had become something of a father figure to her after graduation.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry and all joined the Order of the Phoenix on their last night at Hogwarts. There was to be a large meeting, and an mass initiation of supporting member the following week, but as Dumbledore had specific plans for the three, and wanted them to be as involved as they were willing, arranged an initiation for them with only the core member of the order present.

Their lives had changed that night, and not a one of them regretted it. Finally they were of age to join the fight publicly, and ally their skills with the elder members of the resistance, rather than trying to participate form the sidelines, often causing as much damage as progress.

The night they were brought into the fold, Dumbledore spoke with each of them at length about the commitment and the sacrifices it would require, and embraced each of them as a father might before bringing them into the meeting. Hermione he embraced the longest, almost seeming reluctant to bring her into the next room. He worried that with her zeal for hard work and tendency to throw herself completely into it that she would isolate herself, and miss out of fulfilling relationships.

He had been right. Two years after graduation, after joining the order, Hermione was growing tired of returning home to an empty flat, tired of having no one but Harry and Ron to talk to, both of whom she loved dearly, but neither seemed to fill her need for companionship, and she knew that she would have to give up her job in order to have a chance at a successful relationship; she could not expect a partner to be comfortable with her long, unexplained absences and secrecy, and she was unwilling to abandon her work, her lifeline.

Even her relationship with her parents suffered; they did not understand the war that was going on in a world apart from theirs, and understood even less why their only daughter insisted on risking her life to be a part of it.

Despite having moved nearer to them after her breakup with Ron, Hermione's usually easy going relationship with her parents began to crack as they grew more and more aware of her lengthy absences due to work, and drew their own conclusions about the levels of danger she was in as a result, though they often weren't far from the truth.

Communication with her parents was now limited to the occasional phone call and dinner on the holidays, and her weekly tea with Dumbledore was quickly becoming her primary source for fatherly advice.

Dumbledore, for his part, enjoyed the teas, and Hermione's company immensely, but worried at the prospect of such a young woman finding more social merit in tea with an old man than in the company of her peers.

One Friday afternoon, in late September, however, Dumbledore began to plot.

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Thanks for reading! Eight more chapters to come! Please review (gently)! No constructive (or otherwise) criticism, please, I'm just reposting my old story and won't be making any major changes. Also, I'm a tender cupcake and hate getting criticized for hobby writing!


	4. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter franchise. This is just for fun, not profit!

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, folks! I wrote this story about eight years ago and am reposting now that I've gotten back into fanfiction. I hate rereading stuff (almost as awful as watching yourself on video) and I've mostly forgotten what I wrote, so the content will be fresh to all of us. I'll go in and do a quick spell check of each chapter as I repost, but that's it. No big revisions or expansions. If the ending ends up sucking, hopefully one of you awesome people will step up and write a more satisfying conclusion! That would be amazing, so if you're so inclined, get in touch via pm as we get closer to the 11th and final chapter.

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Dumbledore had been a Very Old Man for quite some time now, but had never truly felt old. In the six years since Voldemort had come back after the Tri-Wizard Cup, he felt himself aging every day. Slowly, the twinkle had begun to slip from his eye, and the ever-present laughter had begun to fade from his voice.

Few had noticed, of course; compared to the rest of the Order, now undoubtedly worse for wear after six long years of fighting, Dumbledore was jolly as could be, his ever present optimism and seeming omnipresence had kept them all going, had kept them sane.

He knew this all too well, and the extra burden only made him wearier. He was losing sight of his reasons for fighting. The members of the order were like children to him, the few members who were his peers were like siblings, but watching each of their lives change irreparably in the face of war had nearly crumbled his resolve.

What Albus needed most was a reminder of his faith in the Order, in his friends, and in him. Hope from the ashes.

An early fall afternoon found him seated comfortably in an overlarge wing backed chair in his office, plucking lemon drop after lemon drop from a small bag on his desk and sucking the sweets contemplatively, stroking a rather peaked looking Fawkes and listening intently to the faint murmur of the sorting cap, perched lazily on his head.

The old cap was, aside from his duties as the sorting hat, possessed of a dry wit and great wisdom, not to mention a fair bit of spare time, it's occupation only requiring attention for less than an hour each year.

Dumbledore had found the hat to be a worthy conversationalist, and quite the therapist, when need be. There was something to be said for wise, un-biased, thought-reading caps who had nothing better to do with three hundred and sixty for days of the year than come up with brilliant solutions to world-threatening problems.

And the sorting cap's best solution to Dumbledore's doldrums yet was for a cocktail of age old remedies; new alliances to help with the Order, good company to help with his moods, and a bit of romance, to make the world go round.

Having dismissed the notion of romance for himself, given a lack of venerable withes or wizards his age with whom he did not feel either a great deal of either contempt or brotherly love (after all, one is bound to have established alliances and enemies by the ripe old age of . . . whatever he was) Albus was determined to play match maker, if not for the long lasting happiness of his unsuspecting victims, then for his own amusement at being yenta to a generation younger than his favorite pair of socks.

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Thanks for reading! Seven more chapters to come! Please review (gently)! No constructive (or otherwise) criticism, please, I'm just reposting my old story and won't be making any major changes. Also, I'm a tender cupcake and hate getting criticized for hobby writing!


	5. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter franchise. This is just for fun, not profit!

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Despite his consistently snarky demeanor towards students, Severus had always shown common courtesy and respect for most of the staff, and, while not being the most social of creatures, had honed something akin to friendship with a few of his colleagues.

Still, Dumbledore was thoroughly convinced that a night at the pub in Hogsmeade every other weekend wasn't quite enough social interaction, and after all Severus had been through, he needed, more than ever, to open up and build relationships with his peers.

The past six years had been difficult on everyone in the Order, but none more than Severus, who had tried to reenter the fold as a spy shortly after Voldemort's return, but having been betrayed by the doubts of Karkaroff and the elder Malfoy, was nearly killed in the process.

In fact, he _**had**_ been killed, and it had taken Poppy Pomfrey and three St. Mungo's Healers working round the clock for nearly two days to fully resuscitate him. Even after his body had been, for the most part, healed, members of the Order had taken turns sitting watch over him for three weeks, while he battled with himself, and Albus.

He had truly wanted to die, and had welcomed death at the hands of his former cohorts. A fitting end for a man who felt defined by his failures and betrayals, and indeed, was defined by them, as far as much of the wizarding public was concerned.

While Severus Snape would never commit suicide, he wasn't above dangerous carelessness in times of deep depression, and refused, or could not bring himself to eat. He had been withering away to a ghost of a man until Albus finally intervened and forced him to care for his body, and did his best to engage the man's mind.

His activities with the order became a sort of lifeline for Severus, who had thought his usefulness gone when he was found out as a spy, but was soon put to work by both the Order and the Ministry's aurors, helping to debrief aurors on how to prepare for death eater raids and tracking the Dark Revels.

His knowledge of the inner structure of the death eater society, as well as insight into the psychological tactics used both within the circle and on their victims, proved invaluable.

After Severus had been exposed a spy, Voldemort had changed many of his tactics, schedules and meeting places to make his hard-won information practically useless, but many of the lesser death eaters had been plucked from the ranks via speedy trials and prosecutions through the ministry of magic based on hard evidence gathered before he was caught.

They had weakened the ranks, to be sure, but Voldemort was gathering new recruits with unprecedented speed. People too young to remember the terror of the first wave of Voldemort's power were eager for a chance to prove themselves by any means possible.

The staff at Hogwarts found themselves with the tremendous responsibility if trying to keep their students from turning to Voldemort, and the Defense of the Dark Arts job now had a rotation of instructors, ranging from Aurors to War Mages.

DADA was now an entire department of the curriculum, lead by Remus Lupin, who had been reinstated the year after Voldemort had returned, and was invaluable to the school for his ability to reach students as a father figure and role model, being the youngest staff member along with Snape, who could hardly be considered to have friendly relationships with his students, even his prized Slytherin.

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Thanks for reading! Seven more chapters to come! Please review (gently)! No constructive (or otherwise) criticism, please, I'm just reposting my old story and won't be making any major changes. Also, I'm a tender cupcake and hate getting criticized for hobby writing!


	6. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter franchise. This is just for fun, not profit!

Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and author alerts, folks! I just finished final exams and am now done with my terminal degree (now it's just a relatively short road to hell, I mean, licensure), so I might just throw these last six chapters up quickly and add a better ending if need be. That's up to y'all, though. The more love I get, the more enticing it is to take a study break and update a chapter. No wrod form the readers means I forget about this story. You don't need to feed my ego, just my memory!

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When Hermione arrived for her Friday tea with Dumbledore, she sensed immediately that he was up to something. He was wearing his signature "up to something' grin, to start, and for once did not try to ply her a vast array of sweets, instead having a platter of crumpets and strawberry jam (her favorite) at the ready. She registered the change immediately, and stopped to stare at Dumbledore accusingly before she was three steps into the room.

"What are you up to?' she demanded. Albus gave her his best innocent old man face and she laughed, then crossed the room to embrace him.

"Now spill". It was as a much a good-tempered threat as it was a request, and Dumbledore broke into a wide smile and gestured for her to sit down as he settled into his favorite chair by the desk.

"I have a proposal for you, a new project for the Order. If, of course, you have the time"

Hermione took to the bait, as he knew she would. Insinuating that Hermione had too much on her plate, and she always did, was a surefire way to get her to take on a half-dozen extra projects, just to prove that she could.

Hermione settled in and listened as Albus detailed his idea for creating immediate response teams who would work under joint direction of the Order of the Pheonix and the Ministry of Magic to try and prevent likely death eater attacks through Auror intervention and protection of the potential victims, and to supply teams of mediwizards and other experts with specialized knowledge of common death eater attack methods who could provide the best possible care at a moments notice.

She had paid careful attention to his pitch, her eyes growing wide with enthusiasm and Albus could practically see the gears turning.

"But where do I fit in to this plan? You said that you needed me specifically?" she asked, as soon as he had wrapped up his introductory spiel.

"You, my dear, would organize the project, if not head it yourself once it was functional. I have one other person from the Order in mind who could work with you to determine what and whom will be necessary. Someone with an extensive knowledge of typical death eater attacks and patterns."

"You don't mean Professor Snape, do you?" Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers and there was a note of panic in her voice.

In theory, Hermione respected her former potion's master immensely, and had come to understand his reasons for being an utter bastard a bit better through her work with the Order. However, she had always felt that he hated her, whether for guilt by association, resentment for her pride in being Muggle born, or simply for being a whip smart girl who humiliated all of his Slytherin wunderkind in every exam and task he could throw at them. Hermione couldn't imagine that he would be willing to work with her on a project of this magnitude, where it would be essential for her to be "an insufferable know-it-all" on a regular basis.

"Of course I mean Severus, dear. He is really the best man for the job, as you are the best woman." He smirked briefly at his bad pun before continuing "Your expertise and influence on the project would be essential. Your research in protection and concealment charms and extensive knowledge of both Auror operations and personnel and other operations of the Ministry would be invaluable for pragmatic strategic planning. Your ability to plan and implement complicated missions involving a number of experts and egos, however, is what makes you exceptionally well suited. Severus' er, _people skills_ just aren't up to the task. You're a natural leader, my dear, but none of your research, no matter how thorough, can replace Severus' . . . shall we say, 'field knowledge' when it comes to death eater attacks."

Hermione was a bit put off by the 'research isn't everything' dig, but had to concede the point.

"I can do it, I'm sure, but it will take several weeks, and quite a bit of cooperation between Professor Snape and I. Has he already agreed to the project, knowing that he'll be working with me, of all people?"

"I plan on speaking to him this evening, and I am most confidant that he will agree" Dumbledore responded, with a conspicuous grin twitching at the corner of his mouth "and I do not doubt that you two will work well to each other after you've had time to. . . acclimate, of course, to each other as colleagues rather than teacher and student".

Dumbledore's confidence only made Hermione more nervous, but she nodded her assent, already brainstorming for the project in the back of her mind.

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Thanks for reading! Five more chapters to come! Please review (gently)! No constructive (or otherwise) criticism, please, I'm just reposting my old story and won't be making any major changes. Also, I'm a tender cupcake and hate getting criticized for hobby writing!

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	7. Chapter 5: Libraries and Nerves

A/N: Hey folks, as embarrassed as I am to say it, I can't figure out how to request beta reader services on . I easily figured out how to volunteer my services _as _a beta reader, but can't tell for the life of me how to recruit one, and I'd really love to get a beta on board for this fic and one that I'm currently planning (a twilight fic, sorry). If any of you are willing to clue me in about how to request beta services, I'd be so grateful! As always, be nice! Snarky reviews/PMs just aren't welcome. Thank you!

That said, one with the story!

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Chapter five

That Sunday evening had been agreed upon for their preliminary 'brainstorm' meeting, after a brief owl exchange that, while superficially courteous, had left them both feeling rather edgy.

Severus had agreed to the project immediately, surprising Dumbledore more than a little, though he kept this to himself.

He knew that arguing with Albus would be useless, and he was relieved to have another project to distract him, anyway.

Analyzing the latest potions used by the death eaters had been dull work; they clearly hadn't found a suitable replacement for him yet, he observed wryly, as whomever had been creating the newest arsenal of debilitating and mind-affecting potions recently was an utter hack, though they had produced thoroughly gruesome and appalling results, nonetheless.

Severus was, in truth, eager to be involved with prevention, for a change, rather than just more forensic analysis of the brutal aftermath of the attacks. He felt that the Order was merely responding to Death Eater threats, rather than preventing them altogether. To get the edge in this silent war, the order would need to be proactive. That meant initiating attacks, which Dumbledore staunchly opposed, or preventing them. Severus regarded this newest invitation as a sign that Dumbledore was finally listening to his hard won experience.

Grudgingly, he found himself admitting that Hermione was a brilliant mind and a valuable asset to the Order. She would be an excellent collaborator for this project, no matter how great a pain-in-the-arse she had been to instruct during her years at Hogwarts. A multi-expert initiative such as this one would require a softer touch than his, not that this was any sort of high bar, and Severus was relieved that this consideration had already been provided for.

Sunday evening found Hermione fidgeting in front of Snape's quarters in the dungeons of Hogwarts. She had been surprised when he had declared that they would meet in his private study, but had not wanted to risk getting off to a bad start by negotiating a less personal venue. Snape was brilliant, she knew, but edgy, even with colleagues.

She was nervous, to be sure, but also secretly excited to be working with Snape. She had always admired him greatly, and saw the project as a last chance to prove herself as a valuable mind, rather than just an obnoxious know-it all. Hermione clung to a hope that being a Hogwarts alumni would put enough distance between herself and his dedicated prejudice against Gryffindors for Professor Snape to finally acknowledge Hermione as a scholar, and, with a little luck, a contemporary.

After finally screwing up the courage to knock, the door swung open immediately, and Hermione had the rather uneasy suspicion that Snape had known of her presence all along. The idea that he had been standing on the other side of the heavy oak, waiting for her to gather her courage, was more than a little unsettling, but also slightly endearing. Was this a sign of respect, or an assessment of weakness?

He swept her inside briskly, and she hurried to keep up as he strode through a rather comfortable looking sitting room and lead her into a separate study, nearly twice the size of the salon. The walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling, with not one but three sliding ladders attached to runners along the ceiling. Without close inspection, Hermione could only hazard an educated guess that Snape's personal library had little overlap with Hogwarts' own renowned collection, mere floors above, and that this was a feat unto itself. Hurried though he was to keep up with Snape's brisk pace, Hermione chanced a peek at a few titles, taking in the sure signs of original prints and possible even unique editions. This was clearly an unparalleled collection; an exclusive bank of scholarship unrivaled by any major institution she had ever visited.

Hearing her own small gasp, she quickly composed herself and took in the rest of the room, a fireplace at the far wall, a large work table in the center of the room with two chairs, and a narrow door in the corner leading to an adjoining room, which appeared to be a small lab room.

After her quick inventory of the room, Hermione turned to face her former professor, who seemed torn between a stern scowl and an amused smirk. The result was a rather sour expression, and she had to stifle her own grin as she looked at him expectantly.

"If you've quite finished dawdling, Miss Granger, let's get on with this. "

It was going to be long evening.

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Thank you for reading! As always, reader feedback encourages me to post faster! Please let me know that you're reading and want more! You don't need to be fancy, just let me know you're out there. Also, if someone could solve the "how to get a beta reader" mystery for me, I'd be ever so grateful!

XOXO!


	8. Chapter 6: The Trouble With Cognac

Chapter six

Snape ushered Hermione towards a chair, but did not sit, instead, standing her as though conducting an interrogation.

"Now. What did Dumbledore tell you this was all about?"

Hermione was slightly taken aback, did he_ really_ not know what project they were to be working on, or did he simply think that she didn't understand the project at hand?

She began to recall, verbatim, exactly what Dumbledore had proposed to her in his office but was silenced by a wave of his hand.

"That will be fine. I was not certain if you had been fully informed of our task. I will explain my plans briefly, and then we will set to work integrating your . . . expertise, whatever that may be . . ."

Hermione finally shut her gaping jaw and leapt up, successfully catching Snape off guard and ending his little speech.

"Your plan? YOUR PLAN?" She was nearly shouting, and her voice echoed off of the stone walls of the study. Slightly embarrassed, she lowered her voice to a furious half-whisper, half-growl and continued her verbal assault

"I was under the impression, _Severus_, that we would be _collaborating_ on this project, as _peers_. . . "She proceeded to rattle off an impressive variety of colorful names and suggestions for where he could shove "his plan".

Snape's eyes had begun to glaze over in mild shock and he snapped back to attention as she sank gracelessly back into her chair, crossed her legs, then her arms, and declared

" . . . And I'm not leaving until _we_ have comprised a thorough outline of the project and a timeline for its implementation. "

Snape simply stared at the young woman before him, shock quickly reverting to cool disdain, and said nothing.

"Do I make myself clear?" Hermione asked, her tone wasn't exactly threatening, but Snape knew that she wasn't about to give up, and he resigned huffily, stalking off to the sitting room muttering something about a good, stiff drink.

She was mildly surprised when he returned a few minutes later with a decanter and two snifters.

Taking the offer of a drink as something of an olive branch, she took the initiative of offering what was, to her, a rather undeserved, albeit necessary apology.

"I . . . I'm sorry for shouting. "

Snape grunted softly and slid a snifter toward her, taking the chair across from her. Hermione took this as encouragement, and, stifling her pride, continued

"It was inappropriate of me to raise my voice in your home, and I know that you are uncomfortable with your first name being used without your permission"

With an appraising look, as though assessing whether or not she meant the apology, he poured a shot for himself and then, as though it were an afterthought, a shot for her.

Making no move to speak, or drink for that matter, Severus watched Hermione patiently. It was clear that she was being tested. Or toyed with. Or both. Not knowing what else to do, but petrified of drinking . . . whatever it was, before he had his first draught, she did the only thing she could think of. Kept talking.

" . . . I admit that I lost my temper"

Here, he snorted, and downed his draught, pouring himself another immediately. Instead of putting the decanter back on the table, he looked Hermione directly in the eyes, challenging. She raised the decanter and sniffed delicately. _Cognac_ she thought. _The man is downing cognac like cheap vodka. _

She knew it was a veritable crime to slug back good cognac, but not one to refuse a dare, and this was a dare if she had ever seen one, she put it back, and continued her little speech when she noticed that Snape had not yet poured her another draught but seemed to be waiting, the decanter held in midair.

" . . . But honestly, I had looked forward to working with you"

At this, Snape downed the second draught, and a third. Filling his fourth, he looked at Hermione expectantly, her snifter still empty

" . . . But I have always respected your work, when I wasn't too preoccupied being terrified of you, of course"

She instantly regretted the last bit, and her eyes widened in surprise when she realized it had, indeed been said aloud, but Snape merely raised and eyebrow and poured her a second draught.

She was beginning to see his game.

Appease his ego, and get him a bit pissed, and then perhaps he would be willing to move past their less-than-smooth beginning and start the meeting anew.

And with the cognac still warming her throat and beginning to relax her a bit, she decided that wasn't such a bad idea, after all.


	9. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

As the evening wore on, the decanter had slowly emptied and the pair actually found themselves making good headway.

After a rather elongated apology which evolved into a rant about the importance of the work (picked up and continued by Severus after Hermione collapsed in a fit of giggles after her fifth drink), the pair had settled in and begun planning in earnest, their slight inebriation loosening their tongues and imaginations just enough to give them each a burst of ingenuity, and something akin to tolerance on both of their parts.

As the night wore on, they each found themselves secretly enjoying the other's company, or at the very least, appreciated the insight of the other.

Working with a partner was rather new territory for each of them, and each found it surprisingly helpful to have a well-informed peer asking all the right questions and nudging ideas in new directions.

Midnight found them thoroughly engrossed in conversation, discussing infiltration and tracking techniques and playing a drunken game of one-upmanship with knowledge of death eater attack case studies, healing potions, and who's who knowledge of the modern healer and potions communities.

So engrossed, in fact, that neither heard the clock strike twelve. Or one, for that matter. Shortly before two in the morning, Hermione glanced at the clock in the study after stifling a yawn.

She jumped up, startled equally at the prospect of having just four hours until she was due to report on assignment, and the fact that she had just spent six hours in the company of Severus Snape, five of them quite tolerable.

After a few mumbled apologies She gathered the scrolls and diagrams they had been working on, explaining as she went that she would put together a formal proposal and send it to Dumbledore the next day.

Surprisingly, Severus gave no argument, but watched with an amused smirk as she bustled around, and stood to usher her out of the dungeons.

As she turned to leave, finally, she caught Snape's gaze and held it for a moment, as if gauging his mood.

"I'll send an owl this week to arrange another meeting, if that's alright?"

He nodded curtly, but made no move to leave. Hermione paused again, then tuned quickly and hurried down the hall, not slowing her pace until he heard the door close with a heavy thud.

Hermione leaned against the cold stone wall of the dungeon corridor and waited to catch her breath as her racing heart slowly retuned to normal.

She had no idea why she was so nervous. The meeting was over, after all, and, all things considered, had gone fairly well.

Perhaps that was the problem. Whatever she had been expecting of a meeting with Severus Snape, brilliant potions master and infamous bastard, getting drunk on fine cognac and losing themselves in work until the wee hours of the morning wasn't it.


End file.
